


A Life in Your Shape

by rhapsodie



Series: Stolen Sunshine [1]
Category: Pathfinder: Kingmaker (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, First Meeting, Love at First Sight, Pining, Spoilers, Temple of the Elk, Tristian doesn't know, what are feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 08:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25348036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhapsodie/pseuds/rhapsodie
Summary: She was like the dawn: brilliant and golden, pure to the core.Tristian didn't deserve her light, but he was doomed to fall from the beginning.
Relationships: The Baroness/Tristian (Pathfinder: Kingmaker)
Series: Stolen Sunshine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835689
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	A Life in Your Shape

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to my good friend, DottoraQN, for offering to beta for me! She has a bunch of fics (admittedly mostly of the nsfw variety); go read em.
> 
> Spoilers for about mid-game (through end of Varnhold Vanishing).
> 
> Also, baby's first fanfic.

The first time he saw her, Tristian couldn’t tear his eyes away. She was _magnificent_ , weaving magic around her like a cape, yelling instructions at her companions all the while as they faced the fearsome treant before him. Her eyes shone in the midday sun. _Oh_ , he thought, _How I wish she would grace me with them._

He frowned. _Where did that thought come from? Perhaps odd thoughts are part of mortality?_

Tristian could do little more but watch as the small adventuring party dispatched their foe rather smoothly, though their lack of experience together was all-too clear, obvious in how they moved and narrowly avoided hitting each other. He wished he could help, but he was completely out of spells for the day - Nyrissa, of course, had sent him here with no warning of the treant, clearly uncaring if her servant lived or died. He had spent all of his energy trying to protect himself before she came, blazing and brilliant.

And then, hope against all hope, she walked up to him directly and fixed him with those brilliant eyes of hers, pinning him in place.How was he supposed to do this, to lie to her face so blatantly? He felt utterly and completely trapped. He had no choice, Sarenrae forgive him; he had to create this farce if he ever wished to regain his divine connection.

Now that she was no longer in the heat of battle, he could observe her better. She was an aasimar, he realized with a start. He didn’t know how he’d missed it before: her hair was a metallic copper, her skin a pale gold, and her eyes blazing light. _She is like the dawn_ , he thought to himself. _Perhaps… perhaps this is a sign from Sarenrae? That I can get through this?_

She cleared her throat politely, and he realized he had been staring. He darted his eyes away for a moment, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. Oh, how low he had fallen. 

Well, he only had one option right now. He felt sweat on his brow, his nerves getting to him. He took a deep breath and looked at her with a confidence he most definitely did not feel, saying, “I swear, I have never been so glad to meet a stranger!” That, at least, was true. “Even with the power granted to me by Sarenrae -” that part less true, nowadays - “I almost lost. Please, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tristian.” _Breathe, Tristian, breathe._

“My name is Lyra, but little mind that now,” she replied. Her voice was melodic. Tristian felt she must be an excellent orator, for who wouldn’t want to hear that lovely voice speak? “You’re wounded. Do you need aid?”

This woman - this _formidable_ woman - who had just risked her life to save a stranger, whom he had to betray, she wanted to heal him now? No. No, he couldn't allow such kindness to be wasted on him. “You are very kind," he said. _Why did she have to be so nice?_ "Kindness to strangers is in short supply these days. But worry not - Sarenrae’s priests are skilled in the healing arts. I can heal myself.”

That was normally true, though admittedly all Tristian had the energy for was a weak healing spell at the moment, and his body ached; it wouldn't be enough to get him back to strength, he knew. He felt foolish, denying her kindness.

He felt sick, lying to her.

“If you’re certain. Please, though, if you change your mind just say the word. I could not forgive myself if I allowed someone to remain hurt." Her response was genuine, said with a tone so gentle it hurt him, hurt to know that she was no cruel monster (unlike the mistress he found himself serving).

 _How can I possibly keep this up?_ He's known her for minutes, at the most, and already his resolve was breaking. Did he care so little for returning to Sarenrae's light, that he would immediately turn against the one person who held the key to returning him to Her?

“A local nymph directed me here. She thinks the enchanted fog in this temple was created by the druid who serves the bandit leader here.” The woman took a pause, looking to the sky for a minute. Tristian could almost see the gears turning in her head. “I expect that defeating the beasts here should cause the fog here to clear. What do you think?”

Of course she had to mention Nyrissa. _Of course_. At least for this question he had prepared, had run through the script a thousand times in his head.

“I have never spoken to nymphs…” And so the lies began in earnest. “ … But I believe your assessment is accurate. The creatures occupying the temple are… far from ordinary animals, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he said, a bit of humor coloring his tone as he gestured at the beast they had just defeated. “The power that moved them here is related to the fog. The beasts hold the fog as anchors hold a ship dancing in the waves. From what I can tell, once the beasts are defeated, the fog should begin to clear.”

The words felt like ash falling from his mouth anyway. He would be free of this soon. _Just say farewell and hobble away until Nyrissa gives me further instructions. Almost there_.

“We should.. Stick together, in such a dangerous place, don’t you think? You could help me in my journeys.” Lyra had been gazing at the ground when she’d started speaking again; she gazed up at him through her eyelashes now, her hands fidgeting with the crossbow in her grasp.

Tristian stared at her for a moment, mouth agape. He could say no. He should say no. But what if…?

Unbidden, a plan formed in his mind. He had to serve Nyrissa, yes, but what if he helped this woman, too? He didn't know what it was, perhaps some trace of his deva abilities, but he could just _feel_ that she was pure, that she would do good to those around her.

He was doomed to cause great harm; of that he was certain. But perhaps he could help mitigate it as much as possible. After all, the damage would happen anyway, he reasoned. If not him, Nyrissa would just use some other 'pet' of hers.

 _Oh Dawnflower, please give me strength to persevere through this. Help me help others, as much as I am able._ Tristian sent out the silent prayer before responding to Lyra. "You’ve saved my life, and I wish to repay good with good,”

_Liar! Liar! Liar!_

“I will gladly aid you in your journeys,” he said. She smiled at him, clearly pleased at his response, and he felt a strange warmth bloom in his chest, not unlike Sarenrae's holy warmth, though it wasn't quite the same. How odd. _Perhaps she truly is an emissary of the Everlight?_

There was only one way to find out, really, and that was to follow her.Even if that wasn't the only way, somehow he knew he would follow her to the ends of Golarion, were she to ask. He shook his head, clearing the thought from his mind. Another weird idea. Mortality clearly was nothing if not confusing.

He looked up and noticed Lyra's halfling companion - a bard, based on the battle he had just witnessed - staring at him with an odd expression. She flashed a mischievous grin at him before digging a notebook and quill out of her pack and scribbling furiously inside.

_Confusing, indeed._

* * *

That night, Tristian found himself sitting in front of the campfire, utterly exhausted. Together the party had defeated the monsters surrounding the Temple of the Elk. Admittedly, Tristian had mostly been useless, being low on divine energy as he was. Together they had cleared the "curse" causing the fog. After that, clearly not one to waste time, Lyra declared they should start making progress towards Oleg's Trading Post immediately, kicking off an hours-long trek in the woods. Finally, she had decided they had gone far enough, and they had made camp.

Tristian had been assigned to help the barbarian woman - her name was Amiri, if he remembered correctly - to hunt and forage for food, though the woman clearly took his company as some sort of insult. Luckily, the task was over soon enough, and that left him here, gazing at the cheery fire and wondering, _What in Nirvana am I doing?_

The plan, the shred of hope he had such confidence in earlier, seemed so foolish now. If Nyrissa found out, she could kill him, or worse, completely sever his connection to Sarenrae. If Lyra found out, she might kill him or leave him for dead as well, for all he knew. And that was ignoring the dangers of traveling as it was!

He grasped his figure of Sarenrae so tightly his knuckles turned white. _This is a terrible plan_. He should never have agreed to join them. He should go, return to Nyrissa with his tail between his legs, and find another way out of this.

He had just about worked up the nerve to run when Lyra collapsed on the log next to him. Tristian let out an undignified yelp. His cheeks burned with shame, but when he turned to her, the aasimar seemed… apologetic?

"I'm so sorry, Tristian! Did I interrupt your prayer?" The apology stumbled out of her mouth, voice slightly higher pitched than the other times he heard her speak. "I should have known you were praying, my apologies, you just looked so deep in thought and I-"

He raised a hand to stop her. "It's alright, Lyra, I wasn't praying. No harm done." He shot a weak smile at her, hoping that his gaze betrayed none of his earlier thoughts of abandoning her.

Funny, when he looked into her eyes, all the doubt he was feeling melted away. It must have been the determination burning in them, which inspired those around to feel the same, he told himself. He wasn't certain that that was the reason, but his mind could come up with no other explanation.

She smiled back at him with relief, and _oh_ , there was that strange warmth from earlier again. She sat there for a moment, staring at him in silence. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Did you… need something from me?"

"Oh! Right!" Now it was her cheeks to turn a fierce red. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright. I noticed you didn't take the time to heal yourself properly earlier, and I'll admit I pushed everyone rather hard today."

How could someone who clearly had no trouble in battle, who he had seen shoot fire right into the heart of their enemies early that day, be so gentle? The contrast was almost dizzying. He took a moment to assess his injuries. Some bruises and scratches, an ache all throughout his body, and exhaustion, but overall, he would be fine. "I'm alright, just a bit sore."

"Oh, good. If it's any consolation, by midday tomorrow we should be back at Oleg's, and he has actual _beds_. We'll be resting for a few days while we wait for the fog to finish clearing, too, so you'll have time to recover fully," she said. 

"An actual bed.. that sounds nice," Tristian responded. Good, so long as they kept to simple topics, he didn't have to lie.

"Well, it's only a few hours away now!" Humor colored her tone. She paused for a second before continuing. "That's not the only reason I came over, though."

"Oh?"

"I was just wondering about you."

"W-what about me?" His heart beat in his throat. Had she figured him out so soon?

"Just… your life, how you ended up on the road, that sort of thing. If we're going to be traveling together, we should get to know one another. A friendly team is a better team, or so my father would always tell me," she said, tone even and clear. Tristian could tell that her father's advice was clearly close to her heart.

Which meant, of course, that he would have to answer her sooner or later. Might as well get the lies out now. He sighed, opening his mouth to say, "Well -"

A loud thump took his attention away from the conversation and to the other side of the campfire, where Linzi had apparently installed herself at some point. She looked at them sheepishly from her notebook, which she was yet again writing in.

"Oh, uh, don't mind me, guys! Keep talking!" She made a little shooing motion with her free hand, as if to push them along.

"Linzi… what are you writing?" Lyra asked. Curious, her blush had returned with ferocity. Tristian wondered why.

"Oh, _nothing_ , just a dumb poem about King Irovetti, don't worry about it." Her words were innocent, but her tone was anything but.

"Linzi…" Lyra's eyes had narrowed into a glare. "Give me the book."

"Oh, sure, I'll give it to you." Linzi giggled. "But… you'll have to catch me first!" She took off, quick as an arrow.

"H-hey!" The aasimar shouted, chasing her around the camp.

The relief that Tristian felt at his sudden rescue was dampened by the pit of disappointment in his stomach.

* * *

Lyra did eventually manage to extract all of Tristian’s (fake) life story once they’d reached the trading post. Luckily, the delay was just long enough for him to get his story straight. Somehow, it had still been so very hard to get the words out. He didn’t understand - he spoke just fine to everyone else, but with her… with her he found himself stuttering and laughing nervously. 

Even more confusingly, Lyra seemed to be struggling in the same way. He had seen her talking to the others, and while she was always so gentle and soft spoken, there was a quiet confidence behind her words that seemed to fizzle out whenever he was near. He didn’t mind though; something about the young aasimar fumbling of her words was oddly… endearing?

Tristian started with the realization that he wanted to hold her. He wanted to physically wrap his arms around her and never let go, making her feel as warm and as _seen_ as she made him feel. He _knew_ that was a bad idea, though, for so many reasons, so he locked that desire away, along with the weird feeling in the pit of his belly whenever they held eye contact too long.

He shook his head. There he went again, thinking about her. He walked outside to look up at the stars overhead, leaving the party for a nightly prayer. He always felt closest to Sarenrae outside, even when the sun’s glorious rays had died out for the evening. The fresh air wouldn’t hurt his endeavors of clearing his head, either.

He knelt down in the dirt beside the tavern, holding the Sarenrae’s holy symbol in front of him, head bowed, and began to recite the words that had been imprinted in his being since creation: “ _Oh holy Sarenrae, may your blessed light…_ ”

Suddenly, the air turned cold around him. He shivered, but continued his prayer, hoping it was just some odd effect of nightfall on Golarion. Then, just as he had feared, that all too familiar voice drowned out any hope he had of it not being his so-called mistress.

“Oh, my sweet skylark, you know your goddess can’t hear you,” she said. Tristian stopped his prayer. He should have known Nyrissa’s silence would end at some point. Still, he stayed in place, wanting to retain some dignity. He heard the soft shuffle of the nymph’s footsteps approaching him.

“Thought you could get away, did you?” Nyrissa said. She chuckled bitterly. “Skylark, you should know by now that I see everything that happens in my realm.”

“It’s not your realm.”

“Is it not?”she asked, a sneer coming across her features. “I decide every motion; who lives, who dies, the rise and fall of entire kingdoms. Every decision in these lands happens at my whim. Who’s to say that it doesn’t make them mine?”

She stepped closer to him, ran her hand up his back. “And you, my skylark, are also mine. If you wish to stay with our future baroness, very well, but don’t forget who you truly answer to.”  
  
“I answer to Sarenrae,” Tristian spat out over the rushing in his ears. 

“Perhaps, but she’s not listening to you now. Only I listen,” Nyrissa said. She waited a moment before sighing and removing her hand. “But enough of that. I have an assignment for you.”

“What is your will for me now?”

“Oh, so you _can_ still obey. Good. For now, follow and help the aasimar woman. I need to make sure she actually succeeds before I destroy her.”

Tristian’s head shot up, fixing a powerful glare on Nyrissa’s back. “You -!” He stopped. There was no use in talking back. Talking back to Nyrissa only led to more pain.

“Oh, my skylark,” she cooed, mock pity coloring her voice, “So quick to fall, aren’t you?”  
  
He frowned. “What do you mean?”

Nyrissa turned around just to pin him with a smirk. “Oh, I saw the looks you gave to my Hound. I think the entire forest could see them, actually. Who knows, maybe they’ll prove useful to me eventually. But that’s for the future. As for now, skylark?”

“Yes...” he let the honorific he knew she wanted hang in the air for just a moment longer, only adding it after Nyrissa narrowed her eyes at him, “mistress?”

“Don’t disobey me again.”

Brutally fast, vines sprung forth from the ground around him, slashing at his skin and leaving bright, ugly welts. He cried out in pain, but Nyrissa just watched, unmoved. She turned on her heel, summoning a portal as she walked, and left him there.

The air warmed back up, but Tristian was still so, so cold. He healed himself, shivering. He forced himself to finish his prayers through chattering teeth, then rose and returned to the tavern.

* * *

Inside, Lyra seemed to be the only one still awake, engrossed in some book. She looked up at his arrival and gave him a shy smile. He couldn’t help but smile back.

“Heading to bed?” she asked, her hands brushing down the page she was on.

“I, uh… yes, I am.” Oh, why did he turn into a babbling fool around her?

“Well, sweet dreams. I-I’ll see you in the morning,” Lyra replied, her eyes flicking off of Tristian’s face.

He nodded. “You as well.”

He ambled over to the staircase, taking care to keep his steps light.

“Oh, and Tristian?”

He turned back to look at her. Her face was stained crimson.

“I.. I’m really glad you joined m- us.”

A smile rose on Tristian’s face, unbidden. Why did that keep happening?

“I am too, Lyra,” he said, surprising himself. He took a moment to think. _Yes_ , despite all the risks, despite Nyrissa’s cold fury, despite the lies and deception and all the pain ahead… he was glad to have joined them - her, if he was being honest with himself.

She smiled back at him with enough warmth to ward off the chill from earlier, and he knew, somehow, that it would all be worth it in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Likely going to make a whole series of one-shots about Tristian and my Baroness through the course of the game because Soft Couple is Good.


End file.
